The call of duty
by Sternenfeuer
Summary: When Gray Mann fired the team after he took over Mann Co., the former RED Medic tried to start a new life. It might have worked, were it not for an unexpected visitor who came calling him back to their service... but this time to take care of something more than just a couple of bumps and bruises. (A TF2 comic tie-in based on the theory Medic is the Administrator's secret agent.)


The day was quiet. Maybe a bit too quiet, especially for the small illegal clinic hidden in one of the more preserved buildings on the bleak outskirts of the city. Every other day it would be at least half-full of shady and even shadier individuals sporting a wide range of results of the close encounters with their rival gang, a law enforcement, or sometimes with a simple streak of an ill fortune. Today, however, no-one walked in since the morning as if all self-destructive idiots in the area spontaneously decided to take a day off all at once.

The only people in the waiting room were the two hulks hired by the owner of the clinic to maintain peace among the patients; after many larger skirmishes members of both sides of the conflict often found their way to the same facility, threatening to carry on the fight on the neutral ground, which was not good for the business.

"No way this luck will hold, I'm telling you," mused one of the brutes, breaking the blessed silence of the shabby room. "Give it an hour, and something big will happen for sure."

His friend frowned at him over the edge of a well-worn magazine.

"Would ya shut up? I'll happily go 'round mah day without da risk some asshole forgets a shiv between mah ribs."

They have been doing nothing but lounging around and picking their noses for almost four hours now, yet any level of boredom was better than another mob war raging in the doorway, all the more since they were paid by the hour and not by the number of the heads they cracked.

On the other side of the reinforced door leading to the doctor's office, their employer wasn't bored any less. Though 'bored' probably wasn't the best word; he had at least a dozen activities set aside for those rare occasions there were no bullets to pull out, no spilled intestines to tuck back in, or no face in a dire need to be sewn back together, but today none of them appealed to him. He was restless and distrait, unable to focus on the simplest tasks, picking up various objects at random then dropping them again almost immediately, losing all interest before he could even start anything.

With a weary sigh, he pushed aside the stack of notes he was flipping through earlier, stood up from the table, and sauntered towards the window leading to the desolated space which once was a backyard.

Not even the distortion of the thick bulletproof glass could hide the bleakness of the view: ruined remains of buildings, piles of rubble, scrap, and rusty wreckages of cars, thick thorny bushes sprouting from every spot where the sandy soil managed to hold a trace of moisture. Reddish dust covering every surface long ago turned the place into the faded image from an old photograph.

In everyone else this sight would evoke nothing but loneliness and despair. For the unlicensed doctor Friedrich Reinhardt it was almost nostalgic.

A small white dove perched on his shoulder pinched his ear gently. Moving like an automaton, the doctor caressed his loyal pet, an absent-minded look on his face, before he shook his head and crossed the room to the closet in the opposite corner.

He had a little use for the objects stored behind the metal door, save for the rare occasions when the patients acted so insufferably he was forced to step out and deal with them personally.

He picked up a massive tool consisting of two sharp blades attached to the handle of an old surgical saw. For a couple of seconds, he enjoyed the light shimmering on the polished steel, tracing the edge of the knife with his fingers as one would fondle the skin of their lover, an unusual tender look in his eyes.

All of a sudden his distant smile turned into an irritated frown; he hurled the weapon back on the shelf, slammed the door, and turned his back to it, running his hands through his greying hair. He hated those days: the days when neither research nor one of his experiments were able to keep his mind occupied, and the memories came crawling back.

Nearly six months went by, and he still couldn't get used to this life, even though he had nothing to complain about - it took him only two weeks after moving in here to establish a successful private practice and to gain a reputation that was bringing him more clients each day. Sure, his services weren't of the cheap sort and his bedside manners were less than gentle, but none of it meant anything compared to the simple fact no-one else was able to put the injured back on their feet faster, even those who teetered on the brink of death, and people were willing to pay for what seemed to them to be miracles.

He had all the resources he could wish for, enough connections on the black market to satisfy his consumption of animal organs, a sufficient number of the test subjects, and the time and space to give them his full attention, so why wasn't he happy? All those projects promising such excitement when he planned them took more and more energy to run, let alone finish. With his mastery, the most complicated surgeries turned into the boring routine, and after the death itself was reduced to a minor inconvenience, no challenge was left there for him. No motivation. Everything was too comfortable. Too easy. Too... safe. Dull. Empty. And quiet.

Soon as he took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, a tiny worm of embarrassment raised its ugly head somewhere in the back of his mind. However upset he might have been feeling at the moment, it wasn't an acceptable excuse for creating such a mess in his equipment.

He reached back into the closet and set the saw to its proper place, as well as the other objects scattered around by his petty outburst. The coat of his uniform folded up on the lower shelf was wrinkled a bit. He smoothed the faded fabric, his eyes reflecting the wave of sadness that rose in his guts for a moment.

Eight years ago he would never believe he will allow himself to be drafted into some pointless war to waste all of his knowledge, skills, experience, and patience on a bunch of brutes, whose meaning of life apparently lied in the sole desire to get themselves killed in the most creative way possible. Now it astonished him how much he misses it all.

Before he could decide if he should attempt to cure his melancholy by teaching local crooks how a harassment of elderly men wandering through the dangerous parts of the city all alone can be bad for their health, a sound of the buzzer caught his attention. The doctor let out a small growl and pressed the button on the radio set connecting his sound-proof office with the waiting room.

"What is it?" he asked, barely suppressing the annoyance in his voice.

"Yo, you got a customer, Doc," informed him one of his interchangeable henchmen.

"Oh."

Crooks will have to wait. He had a job to do. And who knows, perhaps it will help him to take his mind off the past just as well.

"One moment."

In a haste, he shut the closet door, put Archimedes back to his cage (for some reason the little dove made people somewhat uncomfortable even when not splattered with blood), and wiped his face with a wet towel to pull himself back together. Getting lost in the memories during the work on the patient tended to result in something Hippocrates _hadn't_ had in mind.

"All right, send them in."

Straightening his tie and smoothing his hair, he took a seat at the table again to maintain the image of a serious professional, but when the announced client entered the room, he unwittingly rose back to his feet.

Despite the hot weather outside the person was wrapped in the long, warm coat, their face shrouded by the high collar and the wide brim of the hat, their hands covered by long sleeves. Although the coat and the hat were a women's style, it was impossible to tell who (or what) might be hiding underneath.

It wasn't the strangest or the most menacing looking visitor the doctor has ever had here, yet the person emanated a palpable aura of a deadly threat, an oddly familiar one, too, strong enough to unnerve even the cold-blooded killer standing in front of them.

"What can I do your you, madam?" the doctor asked, his voice stiff, his hand sneaking for the pistol he kept in the back pocket of his trousers, and every fibre in his body on high alert.

"You can start with closing the blinds," answered a raspy, grating voice of someone who reconciled themselves with the fact they live and work surrounded by idiots a long time ago.

The doctor gasped, eyes wide.

 _"Frau Administrator?!"_

His visitor sighed deeply and slowly clapped her talon-like hands.

"Yes, yes, an A-plus observation. Bravo! Now, the blinds!"

Reminding himself it's… unwise to let this woman wait, the doctor hurried to the window to comply the order, turning the now-darkened room into a scenery from a cheap horror movie. He then locked the door and informed his employees that until further notice he will gut anyone who would dare to interrupt, them both included.

Only then the Administrator took off her hat and the coat.

"Oh," was all the doctor managed to utter, when he flicked the light switch on.

The woman in his office differed greatly from the well-kept, elegant lady he remembered. The past six months weren't kind to her, and it made him wonder what she must have been through to wither so horribly in such a short time. She was gaunt, with ashen, thin skin stretching over the sharp bones of her face cracked with wrinkles that weren't there a short time ago. Her once glorious mane was dishevelled, frayed, and full of grey streaks, and her ill-fitting clothes crumpled. She looked so fragile it was easy to believe it's only her iron willpower and the endless grudge against her enemies what keeps her going, but the doctor knew her well enough to be sure she has a sufficient amount of both to fuel her for the next fifty years or more.

The Administrator sneered at him.

"Not a pretty sight, _Herr Doktor,_ am I right?"

 _"Nein_ , _"_ he admitted, taken aback. "Would you like me to -"

She cut him short with a wave of her hand and chuckled.

"Reinhardt, even if I was lying on my deathbed I wouldn't let you touch me. I like my limbs and organs just where they are now."

He barked a short laugh, but his grin was shortly replaced by an uncharacteristic look of concern.

"You look... _schrecklich_. Come over here, _bitte_ ," he gestured to the examination table and pushed a couple of buttons on the large box hanging above.

A familiar hum of the activated Medi Gun followed the stream of a sparkling red mist. The doctor turned to the Administrator and smiled.

"I promise it's perfectly safe."

The old woman glanced between him and the swirling fumes, her look dripping with suspicion, before she eventually seated herself on the table, allowing the tingling warmth to fill every cell of her body.

She would never admit out loud she always wondered what this feels like. She didn't know what to expect, and remained on edge for the first couple of seconds, but the experience turned out to be delightful, as the flow of red particles washed away the stiffness and ache of her weakened frame, leaving her refreshed and energized. The faintest trace of smile flew across her face.

Pretending not to notice that, the doctor leaned against the office table and crossed his arms.

"Well, what brings you here, if I may ask? I doubt you paid me a visit just to see how I'm doing."

She ignored him, too busy lighting up a cigarette. With a burning poison stick gripped in her fingers she looked around, exhaling a lung-full of smoke.

"I must admit it's a nice place you've got here, _doctor_ Reinhardt," she said, snidely stressing the word. "Or would you prefer 'Medic'?"

He tensed, as the pair of dagger-like eyes pierced him. The Administrator grinned.

"Well?"

Letting the question hang in the air, he walked past the table. He felt her gaze following him as he moved to the birdcage to release Archimedes, who was cooing and fluttering in agitation.

Still not looking at her, petting the fidgeting dove, he said in a low, hollow voice:

"I'm fairly certain I have lost the position required to claim that title."

"And would you like to have it back?"

The doctor froze. Since Gray Mann seized the TF Industries and dispersed not only the mercenary team but the old management as well, nothing indicated their lives will be the same ever again, with robots effectively replacing men in every position in their business. His co-workers scattered all around the world and soon he lost all contact with them, safe for Demoman he spoke to some three months ago when he called the bomb expert to offer him a job. Demoman didn't seem to be interested, though, and after ten minutes of constant slurred whining and complains about the world's cruelty on the other end of the line, the doctor hung up.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, careful not to show any signs of the excitement boiling inside him.

"Do you intend to reassemble the team?"

The Administrator shook her head.

"I do, eventually, but that's not the reason I'm here."

The doctor shot her a puzzled look, turning back to face her.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes.

"Look, you all know Gray Mann doesn't have a great love for me. And lately, he started to breathe down my neck a little too hard."

"But why is that? All he wanted was Mann Co., _nicht wahr_? Why does he keep pursuing you then? To make sure you won't try to counter attack?"

The Administrator took a deep drag from her cigarette and blew out a perfect smoke circle.

"To get his skinny, grabby paws at the Australium the company kept," she explained as she watched the circle being dragged into the flow of the Medi Gun fumes, then dissolving among the sparkling red particles. "Too bad I got to it first. Right now I'm holding the most of the world's reserve of this mineral, and I'm working hard to get the rest as well before he'll have a chance to find it. Of course, he knows it, and he's trying to beat me to it. Being the little wimp he is, he hired a team of mercenaries to track me down."

"So much for the alleged superiority of a machine over a man," the doctor sneered.

Corner of the Administrator's thin, chapped lips tugged upward, and she nodded.

"Yes. All the worse for your friends, because these same mercenaries will be at their throats the moment I'll throw them back to the game."

He shrugged.

"We will take care of them."

The Administrator let out a mean cackle.

"It's cute how much faith you have in that miserable pack of oafs. I run a background check on those men. They are better equipped, more experienced, more competent, and more intelligent than them, though let's face it, it's not _that_ hard."

"And you are telling me all this.. why exactly?" the doctor asked, his voice crackling with ice.

Even though he was the first one to admit that half of his former teammates have an intelligence quotient of a boiled potato, he sincerely hated the Administrator's claims they are nothing but a bunch of psychopathic morons who owe the most of their successes to the superior tech and the sheer luck instead of any actual skills. He knew better than anyone that despite the questionable sanity of the individual members of their team, they were almost impossible to beat when working together, fully able and willing to wipe the floor with anyone who would dare to cross their path.

Without a trace of remorse for badmouthing her own men, the Administrator explained:

"The Gray Mann's mercenaries had a rather… tragic accident. Their Medic, to be more precise. They are in a dire need of a fitting replacement."

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"An infiltration? Wouldn't Spy be a more appropriate candidate?"

"He wouldn't, for many reasons, him being... indisposed at the moment is only one of them. No-one in their right mind trusts a Spy, especially not a new Spy. But they need to trust the man who's rummaging through their guts on daily basis."

"Oh, not necessarily. In fact, an adequate dose of sedatives or quality restrains are just as sufficient, if not more," the doctor smirked.

The Administrator's laugh bore a strong resemblance to screeching hinges of the tomb door.

"I have to admit I've always admired your principle to never let something as unimportant as ethics to stand in the way of your work. Now back to the point: those men are too dangerous for me to let them just run around without any supervision, therefore I need someone inside, someone who wouldn't raise a suspicion. Your Mad Doctor act is perfect for it - a freak rarely paying attention to anything that happens around him and caring about nothing except his sick experiments will hardly be suspected to have any other ulterior motives than to build another Frankenstein monster. That's one advantage a Spy can't use, while I have yet to see a Medic who doesn't have a screw loose. Plus, I need some safety measure for the moment they'll clash with your team - which will happen sooner or later. Should something go wrong, you are the only one who can save them."

"Such concern for a miserable pack of oafs."

The acidity in his voice would be enough to burn through a concrete floor. The Administrator has never had anything even remotely nice to say to them, and he was sceptical to the possibility she all of the sudden developed feelings for the men she has been rushing to the countless mortal battles, and whom she has always been handling like stubborn chess pawns at best.

The old woman grinned and sniffed.

"Don't worry, I'm not getting soft. But unfortunately for me, you idiots are everything I have at my disposal at the moment, and since I don't know for how long I will have to rely on you, I'd prefer you alive."

"I can secure that a lot better deployed alongside them, instead of against them," the doctor demurred.

"Sure, if your primary task was to babysit them, which is not. For now, I need you more than they do. You can join them once you complete your mission."

"Madam, with all due respect, this is too risky for the team. Why not send Engineer? A quiet, friendly man who spends most of his free time in his workshop could serve this purpose just as well, _nicht wahr_?"

"Maybe, had this task not required certain specific qualities our dear Engineer simply does not possess, because he is a decent, honest man, the poor thing. And he has his own responsibilities to attend to, anyway."

"You can't let them go to the battle without any medical support!"

"Oh, but I can. And I will. The best thing you can do about it is to deal with it."

He sucked in a sharp inhale through his teeth, sunk his fingers into his hair, and shifted his look sideways as his sense of duty battled with the excitement the Administrator's offer induced.

This new job held so many promises. Playing the spy was the most interesting contract he has been given so far; he enjoyed messing with people's minds almost as much as with their internal organs, and this sounded like an immense fun. He then counted in the fact that money wasn't any issue for Gray Mann when he wanted something, and the whole new team of fresh guinea pigs to have fun with… And a little stress has always had an energizing effect on his creativity. Maybe there still were some experiments worth his attention left. Like how long will it take before one or more of his old teammates, whose self-preservation instincts would put a lemming to shame, will get themselves maimed or killed.

On the other hand, being the Medic, he held the direct responsibility for the lives and the fighting fitness of the men in his care, and the fact his former colleagues were still alive at the end of the Gravel Wars was an obvious proof of the seriousness he took this responsibility with. Even disbanded, it was still his team. He invested a lot of time, energy, and random spare body parts in them, and he wasn't looking forward to the prospect to see all his hard work wasted and destroyed. While it wasn't impossible to piece them back together, he very much preferred to prevent any critical damage, so he could later occupy himself with something more interesting than whining patients.

Noticing he's about to bring up another objection, the Administrator raised her finger.

"No, no, no, _Herr Doktor_. I came here to assign you a mission, not to argue with you."

He shot her the meanest look he could muster, even though the Administrator was one of the handful of people immune to his poisonous glare. As expected, it was met with a cold, smug smile curled around the cigarette filter.

They both knew the doctor's defiance is more of a gesture than the real fight; they have been playing this game for years. The winner was rarely in doubt, and this day was no different. Albeit no longer being his employer, the Administrator was never someone who could be turned down without consequences as he learned from personal experience. And given the severity of the situation, he could expect her to take rather drastic measurements to express her dissatisfaction.

The doctor rolled his eyes and sighed.

"There is still a certain complication," he reminded her. "From their point of view, I am an enemy. Why should they hire me?"

"Why not?" the Administrator shrugged. "You have no team affiliation, and mercenaries only care about the money anyway. With your teammates out of the field, they don't have a reason to see you as a threat. No to mention, those men have high standards not many people in your line of work fit into. None, in fact, except for you."

She looked him straight in the eyes. The implication hidden in that statement as well as the cold gaze sent a chill down the doctor's spine. There were barely any competitors on his level to begin with, but the Administrator liked her plans to be as tight as humanly (or, in her case, inhumanly) possible. She also liked to use these subtle hints to remind her subjects how glad they should be she wants them on her side.

The doctor raised his hands.

"All right. Let's say their team will find me to be a sufficient candidate. But what about Gray Mann? I believe he has certain unpleasant memories regarding my person, and therefore a couple of good reasons not to want me on his payroll. Or in his general vicinity, for that matter," he grated his teeth upon recalling the sight of the robot hoards marching through the streets of his hometown.

"You don't need to be concerned about him. Gray Mann doesn't care who works for him as long as they get the job done. According to my information, he never even met those men save for the team captain whom he deals with. You should be safe. And in that unlikely case you two run into each other... well, you demonstrated you are capable of doing more than just sewing additional heads on people."

"A new head!" the doctor corrected her. "And I would like to mention no-one else was able to perform such procedure so f-"

She silenced him with an impatient gesture.

"Whatever. The point is, you are a very competent, intelligent man when you feel like it, who can successfully hide both of these qualities under the guise of a scatterbrained, deranged maniac."

"I can safely assure you I'm a perfectly genuine deranged maniac, _Frau Administrator,"_ the doctor said with a broad smile, and before she could retract her statement regarding his intelligence, he continued: "But I fully understand your intent. I will do it. However, I expect an adequate compensation."

"You will get it… if you won't mess it up."

" _Gut!_ Now, what the means of communication will be?"

"The information will be exchanged through a reliable liaison. I hope you like bawdyhouses," the Administrator sneered.

Seeing the doctor's baffled expression, she sighed. "Brothels."

His eyes lit up with an understanding. "Ah! The lairs of lechery!"

"Yeah. I doubt turning you into an old pervert can hurt your reputation any further, and it will secure a proper privacy."

"Huh. I have never been in such an institution. It can be quite an interesting experience," the doctor pondered.

The Administrator rolled her eyes.

"Just remember I'm not paying you for flirting with harlots. And please, try not to draw too much attention."

" _Ich verstehe_. Do you have any specific tasks for me at this point?"

"Play an idiot - you have a lot of practice in that, after all. Watch and listen. Don't let them find out what you are capable of. Further details will be discussed once you'll get familiar with the situation and the team's activities. Oh, and if you manage to sew something nasty into them in the meantime, you won't hear me complaining."

The wide grin on the good doctor's face indicated this was a pointless remark.

"Just don't do anything _too_ stupid," the Administrator emphasized, mindful who is she talking to.

The doctor chuckled.

"I will do my best. How should I proceed upon encountering my team?"

"Stay back. Let them think you're a traitor, I'm sure their delicate feelings can handle it. And make sure they'll get out of it alive."

"What a touching reunion will it be," he grimaced.

The mischievous curiosity how his comrades will react overcame the slight prickle of guilt, and he was looking forward to seeing them all again. He could only hope they won't try to kill him on the spot.

"How long should I keep this comedy going?"

"That I'll leave to your judgement. After all, if anyone can estimate the best where he's needed at the moment, it's you."

"I hope you know what you are doing," the doctor grumbled, but immediately his expression brightened and he clasped his hands with an audible clap, rubbing them together.

"Well, so be it!" he exclaimed with a cheerful grin that usually meant bad news for someone's internal integrity. "Whom shall I send my professional résumé to?"

She handed him a card with a single phone number.

"This person will direct you to the next step. And, of course, you've never seen me."

The doctor looked around, then turned to the dove on his shoulder, a puzzled look on his face.

"Did you hear something, Archimedes? I could swear someone was talking here."

"Good boy," the Administrator sniggered. "Handle this mission as you see fit. I only want results."

She stood up and brushed off an invisible speck of her blouse before she gave him one last chilling glare.

"Don't forget I'm putting a lot of trust in you. Dare to betray me, and I will destroy you in the ways not even your sick brain can imagine. There is a lot more at stake than just Mann Co. Do not fail me, Medic."

A strange hint of urgency in her tone alarmed him. The doctor bowed a little.

"I won't, _Frau Administrator_."

A weak smile crossed her face as she donned the coat and the hat once again. She let him to hold the door open for her and left without another word or even a glance.

The doctor remained at the threshold leaned against the doorframe, waiting.

One muted gunshot, then another. A heavy thud of two large bodies falling to the ground, followed by a whiff of the burning wood.

He smiled. If his estimations were correct, he had about ten minutes before the building will be engulfed in flames. That won't be a problem. He managed with tighter schedules.

"Well, Archimedes," he smiled at his feathery friend, "it seems we will need to look for a new job."


End file.
